Savage Kiss
by LostinOblivion
Summary: A weapons deal goes south. Set during Emily's time undercover with Doyle. Prentiss/Doyle.
1. Chapter 1

Emily stared through the car window, her eyes searching the fog that obscured the Irish countryside. She followed the gentle curve of the dirt road for about 30 feet before it disappeared in the pea soup-like air. On either side of the road was wild grass and weeds, and the poorly maintained fields rolled off into distant hills that were now hidden from view. Closer to them, not fifteen feet from where they'd parked was an old barn with peeling paint and sagging doors.

The area hadn't been a working farm in years, decades probably. The grass and weeds were kept short only by the nearby sheep farmers grazing their livestock. But these were the areas that served their needs best. Abandoned, isolated, and far away from prying eyes. Emily flicked her tongue over her upper lip, and shifted in her seat impatiently. Or maybe anxiously.

Things had begun to grow stagnant with Ian, and she needed to push him, to prove herself invaluable to him. She was pretty sure he cared for her already, in fact, she could tell that his feelings were stronger than he was comfortable with. But now he had to feel that strong about her prowess and integrity as a weapons dealer. Emily had discussed the meeting with Clyde and Sean, and they agreed with her. This was her chance to make Ian see her as more than a lover, to see her as a partner.

"There." Liam's voice startled her from the front of the SUV.

Almost simultaneously, they opened the doors, the first SUV in their entourage doing the same. The air was damp, giving it a slight chill, but it was pure Ireland. Emily tugged the zipper of her sweater up a bit. They waited for the truck and sedan to park, and walked inside the old barn without waiting for the new arrivals. Their boots clacked on the stone floor, Emily's drowned out by those of the heavier males with whom she'd traveled. The light inside was made even dimmer by waning sun as evening crept up on the day, and a faint odor of manure and hay lingered in the air.

Ardan McNiall strode into the barn with all the confidence of a strutting peacock, and Emily exchanged a look with Ian. He was equally dubious. McNiall was a new seller for them, and had no cause to be so cocky yet. Either his merchandise was really very good, or he wanted to offer that impression. Four men followed him in two sets dragging a two foot by four foot wooden crate each between them.

No one moved until they brought in two more crates the same size and width, and formed a stack. Then McNiall extended a hand toward Ian, and introductions were made all around. Emily was still the only female in the room, a circumstance that was becoming more and more common in her life.

McNiall's men cracked open the top crate, and he gestured Ian toward the crate. Ian smiled. "Lauren will be examining the merchandise for me."

Emily took a step forward, toward the crates, but froze when McNiall snorted a laugh. She turned to him. "Is there a problem?"

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking. "Just that I've never known a woman with even a halfway decent eye for weapons."

She smirked back. "Well that doesn't surprise me, I can't imagine that you spend time with many women at all."

His smile fell.

Emily made her way to the crate, feeling his eyes shooting daggers at her back, and picked up one of the FN P90 submachine guns. It was a small weapon, barely 20 inches long and not even six pounds, but it shot 900 rounds a minute and could shoot up to 5,900 feet, though accuracy decreased with distance. The little Belgian-made weapon also had an impressive 50-round magazine capacity. But what Emily really liked about the odd-looking P90 was that it was reliable and it carried that reliability over its lifetime, so long as it was cared for properly.

The P90 in her hands was old, which meant that it was likely decommissioned from some military force. Not Irish, they hadn't been using P90s that long. She estimated it to be about ten years old, but with a P90 that didn't hurt the value too much. Emily began to carefully disassemble the weapon, so she could examine the parts. She pulled out the unique magazine, which actually sat on top of the barrel, and then disconnected the bolt carrier and recoil assembly. Just those pieces told her that the weapon wasn't as well cared for as it could have been.

She removed the barrel and sight assembly, glanced through the sight and stuck a finger in the barrel. Emily examined the firing mechanism and studied the recoil assembly, keeping her face neutral through the process. With the same slow, deliberate care, she put the weapon back together. Then she picked up a second weapon and repeated the same steps. She did it all again with the other three crates, examining a couple weapons from each, getting faster with each weapon as she got quicker at spotting the same flaws among the weapons.

Finally, when all the weapons were reassembled and the boxes stacked again, she turned to Ian. She opened her mouth, but was cut-off by McNiall. "You don't want to fire one, Darling?"

Her body tensed as his use of the endearment, but she was calm as she turned to him. "Those weapons haven't been cleaned in at least a year. There's rust in the barrel and gunk on the inner workings. I won't risk firing any of these, and I won't stand here all damned day cleaning and firing each one."

And if she was going to test fire a gun in such poor condition, she would test fire them all. Just because one poorly cared for weapon fired, didn't mean the others would. Emily shook her head, and brought her attention back to Ian. "I wouldn't pay more than $500 per weapon."

"$500?" McNiall snapped. "That's less than half of what a P90 is worth!"

Emily glared. "And these are filthy. _If_ they fire after a cleaning, we'll be lucky. We'll probably have to replace parts on most of them."

Ian was silent for several seconds, his eyes glued to hers. Then he turned to McNiall and nodded. "You heard the lady, McNiall. $500 each."

McNiall swung away from her, and moved closer to Ian. "That's robbery, Doyle. I paid more for the damn things myself!"

"Then you should find yourself a better eye for weapons before you make any more purchases."

"Come on, Doyle. Forget the broad, she doesn't know what she's talking about. The guns are in decent condition, and they'll fire. I tested some of them myself. Have Liam examine them, his eye you can trust." McNiall was beginning to become jittery, anxious, and Emily was growing concerned.

"I do trust his eye, and I trust Lauren's. I don't need a second opinion."

"What about $7000 a box? That's still a better deal on P90s than you'll ever find anywhere else."

"$500 a weapon, McNiall."

"Fine. $6000 then." Emily focused on his body language and the growing desperation in his voice as he dropped the price further, and began to get the feeling that something wasn't right.

Ian shook his head. "$500 a gun or we walk."

McNiall's eyes began to dart and his men began to fidget. Emily swallowed. "You owe someone money, don't you?"

His gaze turned toward the ground and he didn't answer.

"That changes nothing," Ian said. "$20,000 for the lot McNiall. You take it or leave it."

"That would ruin me."

Ian's expression didn't change at all. "That's not my problem, is it?"

McNiall turned his back, so Ian did the same, heading for the door of the barn. Emily made to follow, but was stopped by McNiall's hand on her shoulder. She glared at him. "Something I can do for you?"

"You tell him the guns are worth more."

"My assessment is what it is."

Suddenly, she felt something cold against her stomach, and McNiall leaned in so his hot breath hit her face. "You bitch, you tell him the truth, tell him the weapons are worth more."

She glanced at the blade being pressed against her stomach, and then turned her head sideways in the direction that Ian went and called to him. When he turned, she looked McNiall in the eye, and spoke with venom. "Mr. McNiall can't be trusted to be one of your sellers."

McNiall hollered into her face then as he drove the knife into her belly. Emily cried out with the pain, and spots danced in front of her eyes. Ian screamed her name, and McNiall withdrew the knife, bringing a new wave of pain and a river of blood. Then all hell broke loose.

Emily fell to the ground and Ian was on top of McNiall. The hollow bangs of a dozen different weapons began to chase each other around the room, and thuds followed bodies hitting the ground. Emily just tried to breathe around the pain and blood loss. Then it all went quiet and Ian was by her side, his eyes darting around in worry, his hands pressing into her belly. Emily groaned with the searing pain that followed.

"Ian," she said, his name barely making it across her lips.

"Shh, shh, Love. You'll be alright." He ran a hand over her head, and Emily felt something wet smear her cheek.

She whimpered and felt her body beginning to fight to remain conscious.

Something soft was pressed tight to her bleeding wound, and she pressed her lips together to keep from whimpering again. Then Ian lifted her briefly, sliding something under her. When he suddenly tightened it around the fabric pressed to her wound, Emily lurched up and cried out. Ian caught her and held her, whispering softly to her as fastened the tightened belt around her wound.

"I know it hurts, Love, but we've got to stop the bleeding, alright?" He kissed her forehead, and Emily realized that he was shirtless underneath his coat.

Ian scooped her up into his arms and carried her bridal style back to the SUV. He passed her to another set of arms, before taking her again, though now he was sitting in the backseat. "Thollivyn, Liam. Quickly!"

Liam didn't respond, but Emily felt the SUV lurch under them. Ian held her upper body against his chest with one arm while he dialed a number on his cell phone with another. Emily heard him speaking rapid fire at the person on the other end.

"We've stopped the bleeding, but she'll need surgery." He paused. "Yes, that's what we have the room for, bring whatever you need." Another pause. "That's what I bloody pay you for! Cancel whatever you have!"

As Emily began to lose consciousness, she had one final thought: she was going to die on the makeshift operating table of a corrupt doctor, because Ian Doyle was in love with her.

* * *

 _I know I've been gone a while, and I owe you all the last Fallen story, but that one's been giving me some trouble. I think I go through my block though, so writing it should go smoothly from here on out. Until then, here's a new chaptered story. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all very much for the reviews on the last chapter! I'm glad there's still people that still care about this story line, even though it was six years ago now. And onto the next chapter..._

* * *

Doyle paced back and forth through his basement, glancing every few seconds at the closed door to the little room that held the woman he loved. When he'd bought Thollivyn, he'd had part of the basement cleaned out, had ventilation installed and had it separated into a handful of rooms. Two of the three rooms were medical facilities, which he'd had stocked and set-up for whatever medical treatment one might require. In his line of work, hospitals were not an option. Hospitals brought police officers and questions.

The rooms had everything except medication. He even had surgery tools and saline bags, because in his line of work, getting shot, stabbed or blown-up was not entirely unusual. He imagined one day he, himself, would actually use the room, or Liam, or maybe even one of the other men that he liked. He suspected he would use the identical room he had in his villa in Tuscany one day as well. But he'd never imagined Lauren would be in either room, fighting for her life.

Ian glanced at the room, and his hand clenched in a fist. He wanted to kill McNiall again, and this time he wanted to use his bare hands. A noise distracted him, and Louise was at the foot of the stairs, folded clothes in her arms.

"You should change you clothes and wash-up," she said, nodding in his direction.

He looked down at himself, and his whole body froze. Her blood.

Her blood was all over him. Red flakes were falling off his hands and arms, and red was smeared all over his bare chest. Even his coat and pants had red on them. Ian opened his mouth, but no words came to mind. Instead, he nodded at Louise, and followed her upstairs to the bathroom off the kitchen.

She set the clothes on the counter and took his coat from him. Before leaving she said, "I said a few prayers for her. I'll keep saying them."

The door shut, leaving him alone, and he turned on the sink faucet to hot. Ian began the process of scrubbing Lauren's blood off of him, and he continued with a diligence and thoroughness that would make any surgeon proud. His skin went from red to pink, but still it wasn't enough. He wanted to rub the whole day off of him, like hitting the rewind button. He wanted to redo it, and when he did, he would be firmly planted at Lauren's side for the duration.

But that wasn't possible.

Ian did not cry. Years of growing up the punching bag of the older boys and the whipping boy of their supposed caregivers in an Irish orphanage taught him that tears only made things worse. Instead, he finished scrubbing himself off, and dressed in the clean clothing Louise had provided for him. Then he went back downstairs to wait.

He had been with many women over the years, but never had he felt for any of them what he felt for Lauren. None of them even came close.

So, he waited.

* * *

"Bleeding Hell, what the fuck happened here?" Clyde hissed at his team, the four of them standing 100 feet away from a burning barn.

This had been the meeting place between Ian Doyle and his seller, Ardan McNiall, a meeting that had clearly gone south. The local fire unit was at the barn, trying to dampen the inferno. They had no idea what went down at the buy, because they couldn't afford to be spotted in the area and there was really nowhere to hide any of them. They had no idea if the burning flesh they smelled was Doyle and his men or McNiall and his crew. And they didn't know if Emily was inside the barn, already dead and little more than a charred corpse.

"We should have called the bloody thing off," Sean said. He looked as pissed as Clyde felt, and he was right.

Last night, Jeremy had dug up some information on Ardan McNiall that suggested this meeting may not go smoothly. McNiall was in debt up to his ears and the men holding the debt were threatening to take his little sister and her kids as payment. McNiall was desperate for a good sale. Clyde had assumed the man would have quality weapons then, so the deal would be fine, but something had happened to change that. Something went terribly wrong.

"Clyde!" He turned to see Tsia shutting her phone, and walked quickly over to her. She slid the device back in her pocket. "I just heard from a local cop, who heard from one of his CIs. One of Doyle's guys came into a bar an hour ago, looking all shaken up. He said that McNiall stabbed Doyle's girlfriend and Doyle and his men slaughtered McNiall and his guys."

"Stabbed?"

She nodded. "He wouldn't say much about that, but we know that Doyle has a doctor on his payroll and has ordered medical supplies in the past."

"You think that he took Emily to his house to have this doctor work on her?" Sean asked, moving closer to them.

Tsia nodded. "While a hospital would certainly be better, I think this is good for Emily's chances. That doctor has to know that Doyle will kill him is she doesn't make it."

"Yes, but if he's on Doyle's payroll, he's likely corrupt and how good a doctor could he be?" Clyde asked. He ran his hands over his head and groaned. "Fuck!"

"Jeremy!" Sean called to their fourth member, who had still been staring at the burning barn, but jogged over to them at the sound of his name. "Take a drive by Thollivyn. Let us know what you see."

The German man nodded and hurried off to one of their vehicles. Clyde looked at Sean. "Isn't giving orders my job?"

"When you can think clearly, sure. But that's not now."

Clyde said nothing but began to pace as they waited for word from Jeremy. He'd been walking back and forth for about ten minutes when a hand on his shoulder startled him. It was Tsia who stopped his pacing and looked him in the eye. "Emily is strong. She will survive and she'll be pissed as Hell that she didn't get to kill McNiall herself."

He didn't laugh or smile. "I promised her that no one would harm her, Tsia. I swore that we'd all have her back, that _I'd_ have her back."

Tsia shook her head. "Now that's just a stupid promise to make. She's deep undercover, no one can guarantee her safety. That promise was just to make you and her feel better, and you both know it."

He knew she was right, but that didn't change the fact that he hadn't been able to keep his promise. He'd always had her back before and she had his, even when undercover. But this assignment was different and they'd both known it. Emily was in danger every second she was with Doyle.

Sean's phone rang then. The Scotsman answered with his usual gruff greeting, spoke briefly with the person on the other line and ended the call with little fanfare. Then he walked over to them. "That was Jeremy."

"And?" Clyde asked.

"Thollivyn is quiet. He used the scope, but all he could see was the usual men standing guard and the housekeeper's boy playing on the floor in the living room."

"He didn't see Doyle anywhere?" Tsia's face was strained as she spoke, a clear sign that she'd been hoping that Jeremy would see something that could quiet their fears.

Sean shook his head. "But, we can't see all the rooms, even with the scope."

"Tell Jeremy to hang around until Doyle appears."

"Already done."

Clyde glanced at the barn, which the firefighters seemed to finally have successfully doused. "Back to Finnegan Street. There's nothing we can do for Emily."

He tried not to feel like they were giving up.

* * *

It was dark when the doctor finally emerged from the makeshift surgery suite, late night already. His blue scrubs were purple with blood and Ian tried not to vomit at the sight. The trauma surgeon, who worked in an emergency room, had a penchant for gambling. Ian had paid off those debts, and now he owned the good doctor and his skills with a scalpel. However, if Lauren was dead, the doctor would be as well. He waited as the man snapped off his bloodied latex gloves and stretched out his body.

Through a clenched jaw, he asked, "How is she?"

"Stable. The knife nicked her liver and bowel, but both cuts were small and easily repaired, at least after I located them. She lost a tremendous amount of blood, and we've already gone through everything that I brought. She could probably get by on what she's got, but she'll be stronger if we transfuse more, so I'm going back to the hospital. I'll pick up more blood, more antibiotics, and some painkillers for when she wakes up. Maggie, the nurse, is going to stay here with her. She'll monitor Lauren for now."

"Can you move her upstairs, where she'll be more comfortable?"

He released a long breath. "I'd like to keep her down here for 24 hours, just in case I need to go back in."

Doyle nodded and extended a hand. "Thank you, Travis."

They shook and he said, "She's a fighter, Ian. I could tell just from working on her."

That almost brought a smile to his lips. "You've no idea."

After Travis left, Ian walked into the room where they'd operated on the woman he loved and for the moment, had saved her life. Maggie was already glancing at the monitoring equipment Ian had paid for and making notations on a chart. He was incredibly thankful that he'd bought that equipment now. He stepped close to the bed, and saw the woman he loved, her body still, her face ashen and it terrified him. The nurse stepped out then, leaving him alone with her.

She was too still and too quiet. Ian leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, before taking her hand. He sat with her hand clasped between both of his and his head bowed and prayed that God wouldn't take her away yet. Not when he'd only just found her. After several minutes he pulled his head up and kissed her hand again, his eyes sliding to the monitors. He whispered to the silent room, "Please hang on for me, Lauren."

His eyes grew wet and he blinked it away, taking a deep breath to gather himself. She looked so frightfully pale, even her lips looked bloodless. But she hadn't been intubated during the surgery that was a good sign, that meant that her heart and brain continued to be strong enough to keep her lungs pumping without assistance. He smiled, it would take far more than a knife wound to stop Lauren, he was sure of it. But that didn't explain why he was so terrified.

"Papa?" A soft, high voice drew his attention away from Lauren. Declan stood in the doorway, eyes wide, frightened at the hospital scene. Barely two and a half, and already the boy found his way everywhere.

"What are you doing up, Declan?" He should have long been asleep.

"Tromlui," he said, using the Gaelic word for nightmare.

"Oh, where's Louise?"

Declan only shrugged, his gaze falling toward the ground. She was probably in bed and Ian knew that all the commotion today had likely frightened the boy. He exhaled. "It's alright, Declan. Come here."

He set Lauren's hand back next to her body and held a hand out to the toddler. Declan walked slowly to him, eyes sliding back toward Lauren on the hospital bed.

When he got close enough, Ian swung the boy up onto his lap and spoke softly to him. "This is Papa's special friend, Lauren. She's very sick."

Declan pressed his body close to his father, then pointed to Lauren with his chubby pointer finger. "She feel better."

"Yes, we'd like her to feel better."

"She pretty."

Ian smiled. "She's very pretty." He sighed and kissed the top of his son's head. Then he looked at the boy. "Do you remember how to pray, Declan?"

Declan nodded his head, practically head-banging in the typical overly-enthusiastic manner of a child, and then put his hands together palm-to-palm, fingertips facing up. Ian put his hands over Declan's. "Let's pray that God protects Lauren while she heals, shall we?"

Declan nodded again and bowed his head. Ian did the same, his arms wrapped around his son as they sat. After a while, Declan seemed to get tired of the position and began to wiggle. Ian adjusted them so Declan was leaning back against his chest, and together they sat quietly. Eventually Declan nodded off and Ian sat and stared at the love of his life, willing her to heal, to stay with him forever.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you everyone who's read and reviewed the last couple chapters, you're all awesome. That said, we've gotten to the end of the action-packed section, and the rest is more angst and suspense than anything else. Or hurt/comfort, I suppose. I'm estimating maybe eight chapters though, so there's still a while to go._

 _To specifically answer Elektra's question, this story is all going to be pre-series, so I won't be touching on the show at all. Though, I've been debating whether or not I want to write a one-shot with the team learning of the events of this story. I am undecided on that._

* * *

Emily heard a soft voice speaking to her with the gentle lilt and slurred th's of an Irish woman, but she couldn't seem to pry her eyes open. Every inch of her ached with fatigue and her throat felt dry and scratchy; she tried to curl the fingers on her left hand, surprised when she had to fight to make them move. And they did. Curl and release, and that was a monumental effort for her. Prying her lids up over her eyes was just as difficult and when she got them up half an inch, she immediately let them fly back down as the light pierced her eyes.

It felt like every bad hangover she'd ever had gathered to together to slam into her with the force of a truck. Something was not right. She did not recognize the voice speaking to her and her mind was too fuzzy for her to remember what the hell had happened. She'd been with Ian, she knew that. He'd stayed at her hotel and they'd woken up in bed together that morning, Ian ready and raring to go for round...whatever number they'd been on. Emily remembered that he'd held her afterward, his body wrapped tightly around hers and face pressed into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair.

He'd told her that he had missed her. It had caught her completely off guard, they hadn't really moved their relationship passed flirting and sex, and Ian had just made the first move toward more. So, she'd reciprocated with a throbbing ache in her stomach that told her she meant it. Her mind slogged through the events following their post-coital cuddling, sorting through the moments and thoughts with the sort of struggle reserved for complex equations. When she did find the moment she needed, it hit her hard and she curled the fingers on her left hand without even thinking.

Her eyelids followed, peeling slowly away and exposing her eyes to the bright lights shining down on her. A groan escaped her mouth.

"Ms. Reynolds?" A woman asked, shuffling in her seat. The woman came into view and smiled down at her. "Mr. Doyle was right, you do have beautiful eyes."

Emily attempted to speak, but her dry, unused throat cracked and only another groan came out.

"Don't try to speak, dear. I'm Louise, Mr. Doyle's house-keeper. He had to step out to see to some business and asked that I sit with you a bit. You've had surgery. The doctor said you lost a good deal of blood, but he fixed you up. I'll go get him and see if Mr. Doyle is available, okay?"

The Interpol operative licked her dry lips and took a shallow breath. "Yes," she managed, dragging out the S with her breath.

The woman left then, plunging the room into a cold, eerie silence. It was then that Emily realized that she was in nothing except a thin hospital gown, and pulled the sheets up higher over her body. Licking her dry lips again, Emily tilted her head to look at the room and the first thing she saw was a sterile metal table that sent a shiver up her spine. She had almost died on that table, she was sure, and she was probably only alive, because Ian had the foresight to have that table and the whole stupid room prepared.

Emily's fingers curled into her hand again, and this time it took almost no effort. She was lying in a hospital bed, in what she guessed was the basement of Ian's house, a fresh incision in her stomach from a very recent surgery. She probably couldn't walk more than a few feet without collapsing, let alone run or defend herself. She had no weapons on her or even nearby, unless maybe she could locate where the scalpels were kept. Emily had been so helpless only a few times in her career, but by this state, she was already back safe with her team. She had never been this vulnerable, not even when she was lying naked and asleep in Ian's arms.

It was terrifying.

"Ah, Ms. Reynolds, it's wonderful to see you awake," a man she didn't know greeted her. He had an Irish accent, a round, ruddy face and thick fingers wrapped around a chart that he flipped open as he simultaneously clicked a pen. "How's your pain level?"

"Not bad."

He smiled. "How about give me a number between one and ten, ten being excruciating."

"Uh," she frowned. It hurt like hell, but she couldn't risk being on stronger painkillers, god only knew what she might have already said under the influence. "Four," she finally said.

"Make sure you double that, Lauren likes to play tough." She turned instantly at his voice to find a bright smile on Ian's face as he walked toward her.

He moved to the side of the bed opposite the bed and picked up her hand, pressing his lips to her fingers. "Had me worried there, Love."

Emily smiled back, the tension in her body easing a bit at his presence; his smile a clear indication that she hadn't blown her cover yet. "I'm okay," she said.

Ian held her hand to his chest and stroked her hair with his fingers, before looking at the doctor. "Is she now, Travis?"

"That she's awake and alert is an excellent sign, Ian. I need to check her incision though," he said, taking one corner of the sheet in his hand, waiting for their confirmation.

Ian looked at her and when Emily nodded, he looked back at the doctor and said, "Go ahead then."

Travis, the doctor, lifted up the sheet and then pushed her gown gown aside. He pulled on the surgical tape and lifted one corner of the wound dressing. After a few minutes, he resealed it, righted her gown and let the sheet rest back over her. "It looks good, healing nicely. I think you're doing very well, Lauren. Though I can give you more painkillers if you like."

"It's not that bad...really." Her voice was still scratchy and low and her throat a bit sore, but at least she was making words now.

"Can we move her upstairs now?" Ian asked.

"We could, but I'd prefer to wait. I'd like her to rest for the remainder of the morning, then we can get her sitting up and eating something easy for lunch. If we can get her walking a few steps at dinnertime, then you can take her up. If she is okay walking a few steps, we can take the catheter out."

Ian nodded, though Emily could see the worry and disappointment on his face. He looked down at her. "It's not very comfortable down here, but you tell me whatever you want to have, and I'll make it happen."

"It's fine, Ian." She felt his fingers dancing anxiously over her hand, and knew that he was feeling useless. Emily cleared her throat. "Water?"

He immediately looked at the doctor. "Can she have water yet?"

"Yes, but sips only for now."

Both men disappeared minutes later, though Ian returned shortly with a glass of water. He helped her lean up and held the glass so she could take a few small sips. It soothed her dry throat as it slid down and she instantly felt a bit better, though as Ian lowered her back to the bed, exhaustion seemed to sweep over her.

Ian took up her hand again and his fingers found their way back to her hair. "Rest now, Love."

His voice and his touch soothed her, and her last thought before drifting off was that her team had no idea if she was alive or dead.

* * *

Clyde shoved the phone into the cradle with far more force than was necessary, and rested his hands on his face, breathing heavily into them. This whole thing couldn't have gotten more fucked-up if they'd tried. He slowly removed his hands and glanced around the safe house, as if the neglected, broken building might give him some clue. They'd found the house several months ago, in an equally neglected and broken Catholic slum. Thollivyn, Doyle's home, was too isolated for them to find a safe house close enough to monitor it, so they were in a slum twenty minutes away from it and settled for drive-bys and a couple well-hidden cameras that were at too much of a distance to tell them all that much.

Emily was their eyes on Doyle.

"What's your problem?" A familiar, thickly Scottish voice started him.

"Just got off the phone with Central Intelligence. Explaining to them that she might be dead, or at best, injured and completely helpless and trapped in the home of a psychopath wasn't as joyful as you might think." Not knowing if she was alive, knowing that even if she was, they couldn't do anything to help her, that was worse than any conversation about it, and the constant searing pain in his abdomen told him that it might be giving him an ulcer.

"She's alive, I'd bet good money on it."

Clyde shook his head. "Even if she is, we can't do a damn thing to help her."

Sean slid onto the chair beside him. "If she is, it's because Doyle wanted her to live. As long as he wants her to live, we don't have to help her, because he will."

"And what if he's got her loaded on painkillers? You have no control what you say on that shit."

The other man deflated a bit and stared at his hands. "Tsia's been praying."

Clyde frowned. "I didn't know that Mosely was religious."

"She's not. She's worried."

He sighed. "I promised her that I'd have her back, that she'd be safe."

Sean snorted. "Then you're both idiots." Clyde didn't comment, so he added. "There something going on between you two...besides the sex?"

"Excuse me?"

"What, you two thought no one knew? Course, I had thought she was too smart to let you in her pants."

"It's none of your business."

"God Easter, please tell me you haven't fallen for her."

"Of course, I haven't. We're not stupid, it's just...convenient." And that's really all it was. They didn't have time to date or maintain a relationship and they weren't in the same place for long enough to even try. That didn't mean that they didn't have needs though.

"Aye, I suppose that's true. Makes this sort of thing all the more difficult though."

"Don't even try to tell me that you're totally fine, McAllister; I know your not." He knew that Sean would never admit it, but he was fond of Emily, enough that while he trusted her undercover, he didn't like it.

"Didn't say I was, but I'm certainly better than you."

Clyde sighed. "Have we learned anything new?"

"Doyle canceled a meeting he had tonight. Jeremy said the house has been pretty quiet, I think that's a good sign."

He nodded. "If she were dead, he'd be rampaging across the country."

"Our people have reached out to the local police to press their CIs."

"What did Interpol tell them?"

"That one of our people on Doyle hadn't checked in, that _he_ may be dead." Sean looked at him. "Don't worry, she's protected."

Clyde rested his elbows on the scarred, old wooden table. "You know, if she was stabbed, it's going to be at least a week before she's well enough to leave that house."

"At least. If Doyle is as fond of her as we think, he will probably keep her until she's completely healed."

"That could be a month, Sean. She's never been stuck with him that long." That was an awful long time for her to be unable to break her cover for even a second. Not many people could do it, even people who lived their covers (who were actually very rare) broke cover periodically to check in. Emily wouldn't even be able to do that.

"Emily can do it, Clyde. She's smart and she's tough, and she's the best undercover operative you and I have even seen in the flesh and we probably won't see better in our careers."

He nodded. "She is, but she's injured, she might not be strong enough to keep it up."

"Well, if she's that weak, all she's got to do is smile and sleep." The Scotsman was trying to be optimistic, which while it didn't necessarily run contrary to his nature, it wasn't in keeping with it either. Sean was far more worried than he was letting on.

Clyde sighed. "We're fucking helpless."

"Why d'ya think Tsia praying?


	4. Chapter 4

Voices pierced her brain before the soft clattering woke her. Emily opened her eyes to find herself in the same cold room she'd woken to earlier, and concluded that her nightmarish situation was not a horrible dream after all. She was really weak and recovering from a stab wound in Ian Doyle's makeshift basement hospital. Life didn't get more fucked-up than that.

"How're you feeling, Love?" Ian asked, and Emily turned toward him. Louise was standing beside him with a glass in her hand.

"Okay," she said.

"You think you could drink something?" He asked.

She felt slightly queasy and her stomach hurt, but her throat was parched. "Yeah."

Ian nodded and pressed a button, and the bed slowly raised her to a sitting position. She winced as her body body grew more and more vertical. Oh yeah, that incision still freaking hurt.

Ian frowned at the movement, but she offered him a half smile to reassure him that she was alright. He took the glass from Louise and sat in the chair beside her bed. Emily took the glass when he offered it, but the weight of it surprised her and Ian quickly got hold of it again. He held it from the bottom as she put a hand on either side and raised the glass to her mouth. After two small sips, she let him take it back and settled back against pillows. "Nursing people back to health didn't strike me as your style, Ian."

"It's not, not for most people, anyway. For you...well, that's a different story."

Emily did not meet his eyes, but instead focused on her lap. There was a flutter in her stomach at his words that she was trying desperately to ignore, a flutter that suggested she felt too much from his admission. Emily could not afford to have feelings for Ian Doyle, she had to be objective. She looked at him and smiled. "Thank you."

Ian nodded and pressed his lips to her head. "You just get better, love. You gave me a hell of a scare."

She shook her head. "I screwed up reading him. I saw that he was desperate, but I didn't see how desperate he was."

"A miscalculation, that's all. McNiall's was far worse."

"Not his fault he's an idiot, though you'd think a weapons dealer would actually know the value of the weapons he's peddling."

"You would," Ian said with a smile. "But not the miscalculation I was referring to."

Emily frowned. "I don't know if it's the exhaustion or the painkillers, but I don't know what you're talking about."

"McNiall thought an attack on you would be met with less than death sentence for him."

Emily swallowed and stared into Ian's eyes, seeing the promise of his words reflected back. He would kill for her, he had killed for her and he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. That made her heart pound, the rush of her pulse echoing in her head. When Ian slipped his hand into hers, she took it and held it tight.

* * *

Later that evening, Emily found herself being carried out of the cold, basement room up two flights to stairs to the master bedroom. The doctor had deemed her well enough to sleep in a normal bed, though he'd check her incision regularly for signs of infection and the nurse would stay on to monitor her. The two men carrying the stretcher stopped beside the bed, and allowed Ian to lift her from the stretcher and slid her onto the mattress. He was slow and careful with his movements, jostling her as little as possible, and pulled the covers over her body before dismissing the two men.

"How do you feel about real pajamas, Love?"

"As opposed to this flimsy gown that shows the world my bare ass? Fantastic."

He smiled and leaned close, his mouth inches from her ear. "Don't worry, I catch anyone but myself gawking at your attributes and they'll never gawk anything again."

Emily pulled him in for a kiss, a smile on her face, but inside her stomach was churning. She knew Ian well enough to know that did not mean he'd beat-up any guy that ogled her; it meant that he'd gouge the poor bastard's eyes out. Or kill him. Lauren would like him being violent for her, especially toward a man that was being rude; it would turn her on. So she kissed him with a hand on his face until she grew tired, which didn't take long.

Ian pulled back. "I had Louise pick-up a few things for you and we picked up your things from the hotel. Let's see if we can't make you more comfortable."

Ian walked across the room and grabbed something from a bag and came back with button up flannel pajamas. "I know these aren't your usual style, but they're more practical than what you brought."

"Actually, I like flannel," Emily said with a smile, and waited until he was closer before she continued. "I just try to pack something a bit more sexy when I know you'll be in my bed."

Ian grinned as he reached behind her and untied the strings on her hospital gown. "No need to pack special for me, Love. Nude works just as well."

"This whole injured and bed-ridden thing is going to be hell."

Ian let the gown fall down exposing her breasts. He swallowed. "You've no idea."

But as he pulled the gown off her, gently maneuvering it out from under her, and exposed the bandaged area on her abdomen, he sobered up. His fingertips grazed the gauze and his eyes remained transfixed for several seconds, until he broke his trance and met her eyes. "I should have done worse to him."

Emily ran a hand down his arm until she got to his hand, and she gave it a squeeze.

Ian grabbed the pajama top and set it on her lap. He took her arms and guided her up so she was resting on his chest, as she wrapped the top around her and let her push her arms through the sleeves. He guided her back to the mattress and then buttoned the top for her. He then pulled the covers off of her and let her put her legs the pants, which he pulled up, and then he put one arm around her upper back, mindful of her wound and used the other hand to yank up the pants, leaving them low, just below her waistline.

"Thank you."

He nodded, pulling the blankets back over her. "You'll let me know if you need anything? And I mean _anything_ , Lauren."

Emily bit her lip. "I kind of need to pee, can you help me to the bathroom?"

"Of course." Ian unhooked her IV and with his arms tightly around her, holding a significant amount of her weight, they inched their way to the bathroom. Ian didn't rush her, he moved when she moved, taking steps far too small to be natural to him and took the weight she put on him without complaint. When they got to the door, he seemed reluctant to let her go. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine," she said. When he didn't look convinced she sighed. "Would you want me to help you to the toilet?"

Ian nodded then, and let her put her weight onto the doorway. When she made it to the sink and let go of the door, he closed it to give her privacy. Still holding onto the sink, Emily pulled down the pajama pants and sank onto the toilet, wincing at the movement. She sat and had her first moment of privacy, where she was free to freak the hell out. The normally unflappable operative took one, two, three deep breaths to keep herself from hyperventilating.

She had been stabbed. She very nearly died. And she was trapped in Ian Doyle's very luxurious home, too weak and in too much pain to even make it to the toilet on her own. She was entirely defenseless and frankly, almost completely helpless. Emily was not used to that, she did not know how to be okay with that. She was completely at Ian's mercy and that was terrifying. And she was seeing a side to him that was very unlike the Ian she'd read about to prepare herself for this assignment, and different even than the one with whom she'd spent the last several months. This Ian was gentle and caring and playing nursemaid and that was even more terrifying.

Worst of all, Emily felt safe with him. She felt loved and treasured and that left ice water running through her veins. Three more deep breaths. She needed to calm herself down and get back to Ian, before he started to get worried. And he would get worried.

She finished her business and put a hand on the sink and a hand on the wall to push herself up. She didn't even get her butt a half-inch off the seat before the tearing pain forced her back down on the seat with a groan.

"You alright, Love?"

"Yeah, be out in a minute." At least she hoped so. She caught her breath and braced her self again, before pushing with her legs. She forced herself through the pain, but it only got worse and the agony screaming through her gut forced her to collapse back on the seat with a cry.

Ian drummed on the door. "Lauren? I'm coming in."

Emily didn't respond. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe through the pain, as she sat sweating and gasping. After a minute she looked up at Ian, his face still showing hints of panic.

Instead of berating her, like she expected, he said, his voice soft, "Are you finished?"

She nodded. "I can't get up, it hurts too much."

In what was easily the most humiliating moment of her life, and yet, also one of the most intimate, Ian wrapped an arm around her back and lifted her up, pulling up her pants with the other hand. The steps to the sink were three times as painful as her steps into the bathroom had been and seemed to required about ten times the energy. She leaned heavily against Ian as she washed her hands, and felt hot as a furnace the whole time. It used to take jogging several miles to drain her so much, not a few steps.

She only took a few more steps, before Ian said, "Here," put an arm behind her knees and literally swept her off her feet. Emily simultaneously cringed and felt a surge of relief as he carried her back to bed. She pressed her lips to his neck, and said, "Thank you."

Ian laid her back on the bed and spoke, his lips brushing her ear, "Anything, Love. Anything."

Then he kissed her lips and straightened up. He passed her a pill and a bottle of water, "Oxycodone for the pain."

She took the pill and water and swallowed it down, eager for the numbing relief.

"Rest now. You've done too much today," Ian said.

Emily nodded and barely noticed as he moved around the room, her eyes fluttering as exhaustion and painkillers pulled her under.

* * *

 _Thank you all for reading, and thanks everyone who reviewed the last chapter!_


	5. Chapter 5

Her fingers dug into Ian's left arm as she forced one foot in front of the other. Emily was walking, as the doctor had insisted she needed to do as part of her recovery. Right now though, she wanted to stab him in the gut and then tell him to go take a walk. The real fun of abdominal wounds was that you use your abdomen for everything, so every movement, even breathing, tugged at her wound. And it really fucking hurt.

"Just a few more steps, Lauren," Ian said, his voice low and soothing.

He'd been insanely patient all morning, helping her walk and cough and get to and from the bathroom. Well, except for the couple times he'd had to pop out to tend to business. Frankly, Emily was a little mystified by the man. He was so gentle and affectionate and caring with her, but to the rest of the world, he was Genghis Khan.

Finally, they made it back to the bed and Ian helped her into it. She was sweaty and hot and her throat burned and her chest heaved with the effort of walking out of and back into their bedroom. They made it through the doorway and back. Next time, they'd try to get to the stairs and back. After that down the hallway, and Emily dreaded every agonizing footstep. Though the hallway would not be until late afternoon, she knew that time would come too soon.

Ian turned his attention to this watch and then reached for one of the bottles on the nightstand. He shook out a pill and handed it to Emily, who tossed it into her mouth and took a sip from the glass he offered. She waited a minute and when her stomach didn't object, she took another sip, then handed Ian back the glass.

"Thank you." Her voice was rough and breathy as her lungs struggled to keep up with her demands for oxygen.

He nodded. "Rest now. I'll check on you in a bit."

Emily meant to say sure, but only a groan came from her mouth. At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because the next time she opened her eyes Ian was standing beside the bed, holding her hand, and Louise was standing by the door with a tray in her arms. "Feeling better?" He asked.

"Yeah, a little," she said.

"You think you could eat something?"

Her abdomen was so sore it took Emily a minute to realize under all the pain from the wound and the stitches, her actual stomach was a bit sore from hunger. She nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Ian nodded and put gave her his right arm to grab onto, while he braced her with his left hand on her back. Together they slowly got her to a sitting position, and Emily winced as the movement pulled on her wound.

"Are you alright, Love?"

Emily nodded. "Just a little sore."

He frowned, but seemed to relent without offering his thoughts and turned, taking the tray from Louise and setting it over Emily's lap. Louise moved closer to the bed. "It's just some broth, dear. It'll be easy on your body and help it heal."

"Thank you," she said, reaching for the spoon. Louise turned and left then, while Ian sat in the chair that had been placed beside the bed at some point. Emily blew on a spoonful of broth and then put it in her mouth. It was warm and tasty and after a few spoonfuls, she felt almost human. She felt well enough to turn to Ian and ask, "Don't you have better things to do than watch me eat?"

He smiled. "Not at the moment, no."

Emily took another spoonful and then let the spoon rest in the dish. "Have you had any luck with the P90s?"

"Liam and the boys were working on them. They're a mess, like you said, but a good cleaning should salvage some of them. Liam's keeping a list of replacement parts we'll need."

"That's good." She nodded. "Tell him the lever on the trigger pack stuck on several of the weapons I checked, and the guide rods were gunky. Among other things."

"I'll let him know," he said, though his smile told her that he was only humoring her, which was fair enough. Liam probably already ran into those issues.

"I hate being sick," she said.

Ian took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her palm. "And I hate seeing you ill, Love."

* * *

Ian walked with her into the bathroom and helped her ease down onto the closed toilet. He turned on the water in the bath and adjusted it before turning the knob to start the water pouring from the shower head. He then pulled his shirt over his head, he was only in his undershirt, and unfastened his belt. Emily undid the buttons on her pajama top and eased it off her shoulders, letting it fall into a pile behind her. She pried loose one edge of the tape holding the bandage onto her skin and then peeled it away from her incision, before ripping it completely from her body.

She only looked for the trash for seconds, before Ian took it from her and threw it out. He then pulled the compression stockings off her legs and helped her up, so he could remove her pants. He'd already finished removing his own clothing, which he threw into the hamper with her pajamas. The compression stockings he'd left out, because she'd need to put them back on before she got back into bed. Emily could think of few more embarrassing accessories, but Ian didn't seem phased at all. Not when the doctor showed up with them last night and not now.

Emily let Ian help her into the shower and offered a pleased murmur the instant the hot water hit her. Ian stood behind her, his left hand on her hip and his right wrapped around her, just beneath her breasts, supporting her. The hot water pounded down, pulling the layer of caked on sweat and grime from her skin. Ian's left hand moved away from her body for almost a full minute, and then a washcloth brushed her skin. He traced around her left hip with the soapy cloth, before moving it up, being extra gentle around her incision.

She just stood, her eyes closed as the water fell down on her, her body already tired and achy with the effort, but feeling better than she had in days. Ian's right arm moved as his left hand went north, but he never let go of her. The arm settled back where it was, as he moved the cloth over her breasts and up around her neck. His body moved back further from hers and he ran the cloth over her back, down to her buttocks, and then he moved his arm, resting it over her hips, while he ran the cloth over and between her legs. His touch sent a wave of heat racing through her and settling slow, but Emily knew that was not an option at the moment.

When it was over, she felt bereft and her body actually ached for his missing touch. But she was quickly losing energy, and Ian seemed to notice that even before she did, because he was quick to hand her the face wash from her bag. Emily winced as she raised her arms and lathered her face, and was relieved to let her arms drop to her sides as the water washed the soap from her face.

Ian handed her her shampoo next, his lips turned down as he read the label. "Color-treated?"

"Yeah, the red's not real. Sorry," she said, squirting shampoo into her palm before handing the bottle back to him.

"What color is it naturally?" He took the bottle and set it back on the tub ledge.

"Brown, much darker than this, almost black. I look like a vampire," she joked.

Ian chuckled. "I doubt that, Love."

Emily reached her arms up, wincing as her hands made it to her head, and wincing even deeper as she began trying to work in the shampoo. She was startled when Ian moved her hands and put them back down by her sides, but couldn't hide the almost instant relief from the pain. He put a hand on either arm and turned her so that she was facing him, simultaneously backing them away from the spray. To her already hurting and tired body, the move was exhausting.

He pulled her against his chest and Emily happily let her forehead rest on his sternum. His fingers sank into her hair and began working shampoo around, and Emily relaxed further into his body. She'd damn near fallen asleep when he moved them back into the spray and continued to work his finger through her hair, washing the shampoo out. Then he shut the water off and Emily felt an instant chill. If it didn't force her to stand, she'd have been happy to spend all day in that shower with Ian.

After they got out, dried off—which Ian had to help her with—and wrapped towels around themselves, Ian swept her into his arms and carried her back to the bedroom. After towel-drying her hair, they got her dressed in clean pajamas, which was such a chore Emily didn't even care that she wasn't wearing panties. In fact, if Ian hadn't insisted, she'd probably just have gone to bed naked. But both Louise and the doctor still came in and out of the room, and Ian was aware of her sense of modesty. Though both Lauren and Emily were adventurous in bed, neither was into exhibitionism. Fortunately, Ian wasn't either, if for no other reason, than the idea of another man seeing her naked made his blood boil.

Emily was asleep almost the minute her head hit the pillow; she stayed awake just long enough to feel Ian's lips brush her forehead and hear him whisper that he'd be gone for a bit.

* * *

 _I know I didn't post last week, I just got busy and preoccupied with other things. Good news is, I got some writing done on the last story in the Fallen universe. I know the last chapters for this one have been a bit slow, but the pace will pick up again next chapter. Thank you all for reading, and thank you for those of you who review._


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and thank you to all those who read and review this one!_

* * *

Emily pushed herself out of bed, pulled on the thick robe Ian had gotten her and with one arm around her middle, she walked with small, shuffling steps to the balcony. The pain from walking by herself was easily an eight, but she needed to go where her team could see her. It had been three days since she'd been stabbed, and they had no idea if she was alive and knew nothing about her condition. Well, they'd probably inferred from Doyle's lack of destructive spree through Ireland that she was at least alive.

Still holding her abdomen, Emily pulled open the balcony door and shuffled the few steps to the lounge chairs out there. The air brought an instant chill to her body, but it smelled wonderful, fresh and green, and the sunlight hitting her skin was almost soothing. She bit her lip and whimpered a little as she lowered herself into the low seat, and when she finally leaned back, she was exhausted and too warm.

She closed her eyes and just lay there, enjoying being outside for the first time in days. It was a beautiful morning, the kind that made her want to stay in Ireland forever, but Ian didn't spend much time in Ireland these days. His main house was actually in Tuscany, and it was just as beautiful and luxurious as this house, though Emily had only been there for one night and briefly another time. He spent most of the year in Italy and part of the summer and when he was doing business in Ireland in Ireland. Emily knew that part of that was because being in Ireland reminded him too much of the penniless, unwanted child he'd been.

Her team should be able to see her on the balcony, the view to the road was unobstructed from the balcony. And they would be watching, she knew that, but she did nothing to indicate that she knew they were there. Doyle's men could see her too, and crawling out onto the balcony when she could barely walk was curious behavior enough. She hoped Clyde observed closely enough to see that she was okay, but too injured to leave the house for a while. Judging by his recent behavior, Ian would insist she stay until she was completely healed and her strength had returned. That could take a month.

Emily was startled from her thoughts by the sound of the balcony door opening, but she didn't turn to see who was joining her.

"Lauren, what the hell are you doing out here? It's too cold," Ian admonished, coming to stand beside her.

"I've been inside for days, Ian. I just wanted some fresh air."

He frowned. "You got out here by yourself?"

She nodded.

"It didn't hurt?"

"Oh, it hurt. But it's worth it, it's a beautiful day, Ian."

He offered a small chuckle. "Aye, it is." He took her shoulders in his hands and moved her to a sitting position, and slid in behind her. Ian rubbed her arms up and down and wrapped his around her, warming her instantly.

Emily let her body relax against his and rested her head on his shoulder. This was nice, nicer than it should have been, and she tried to ignore the warmth that settled in her body.

"Next time you want some air, tell me and I'll help you out and get you a blanket," he said.

She grinned. "You are quite the mother hen, Ian. I didn't expect that."

His lips brushed the top of her head. "I almost lost you, Love."

Emily titled her head up toward him. "You saved me."

Ian didn't say anything but ducked his head and met her lips. When they broke apart, they sat silent for several minutes, just enjoying the weather and each others company. When her body began to tense from the prolonged cold, Ian kissed her head. "Enough fresh air for now, Love."

Rather than help her stand, he slid his arms under her and carried her bridal style back into the master bedroom. Emily tried not to think about her team watching the entire exchange, but she knew they would be and that it was important that they see Ian's behavior toward her. Ian set her on their bed, helped her out of her robe and pulled the covers over her body. He lips brushed against hers and then tickled her ear as he told her to rest, before leaving the room. It didn't take Emily long to drift back to sleep; the walk outside and the conversation was exhausting to her weakened body.

She didn't know how long she slept this time, but when she wakened, she was greeted by a surprise. A small boy with golden curls and ocean blue eyes was standing beside the bed and staring up at her.

* * *

Clyde was scribbling on a yellow legal pad and trying to ignore the persistent ache in his gut that got worse every hour that went by with no sighting of Emily. It had been days now, literally multiple days, since she was stabbed and they had no idea if she was even alive or if she was, what kind of condition she was in. The only thing that gave them some hope was that Doyle hadn't started indiscriminately massacring his enemies. That seemed to suggest that she was alive and hanging on.

Or she was dead and they had misjudged Doyle's feelings for her.

Interpol and the CIA were both breathing down his neck for answers either way. And Tsia and Jeremy's home agencies were making noise about revoking their participation in JTF-12 and yanking their agents out. They should have stopped that stupid gun deal, but Emily wouldn't let them. Their intel on McNiall wasn't that clear and she had a chance to really prove her worth to Doyle, and more importantly, his untrusting men, especially Liam, who for whatever reason, did not like Lauren.

"Jeremy and Tsia have something," Sean practically barked at him before disappearing as quickly as he'd appeared.

He jumped out of his seat and ran into the room full of monitors where Jeremy and Tsia had been camped out for three days. Tsia turned and smiled at him. "Look!"

Clyde followed her finger to a monitor that showed the front of Doyle's mansion. They had zoomed in as far as they could to show a not-especially clear image of a familiar figure sitting on a lounge chair on a balcony. Emily's eyes were closed, but there she was, alive and well enough to walk onto a balcony.

"Son of a bitch, she's alive," he said.

Sean snorted. "Course she is. It would take a hell of a lot more than the likes of McNiall to kill her."

Despite his words, Clyde could see the relief on his friend's face. Jeremy was smiling, but despite her excitement, Tsia looked worried. "What's wrong, Mosely?"

"She looked pretty bad walking outside, and sitting down looked agonizing," she said.

Clyde sighed. "We knew she was injured-" He stopped abruptly when another figured joined Emily. Doyle spoke for a bit and then slid in behind Emily, pulling her close to his body.

Jeremy made a noise of disgust. "I don't know how she can let him touch her."

"Because she'd be dead if she didn't, you idiot," Sean snapped. None of them enjoyed watching Doyle all over Emily, but she was doing her job and doing it damn well too. If she could do it, they could all certainly suffer through watching it.

They exchanged a few words and Doyle kissed her, then they relaxed into silence, both looking out over the balcony.

"So, what's our plan now?" Tsia asked.

"There's no safe way to extract her, and we're nowhere near ready to arrest Doyle, so we wait and watch until she's healed enough to leave herself," Clyde said, though he really, really didn't like the idea.

"She's going to be under without a break for weeks," Sean said.

He sighed. "Well, she's the best, right? If any one of us could pull it off, it's Em."

"Aye, doesn't mean we have to like it though."

"Movement," Jeremy announced, drawing Clyde's attention back to the screen and Sean's and Tsia's as well.

Doyle moved from behind Emily and then lifted her into his arms and carried her inside out of their view. Aside from putting her arms around his neck, Emily didn't move at all.

"Did he just carry her?"

Tsia snorted. "Did she just not fight him on being carried?"

"Bloody hell," Clyde muttered. "That was Emily telling us that she's seriously injured and basically fucking helpless."

"Maybe not," Jeremy shrugged. "Maybe she likes him carrying her."

"Really?" Clyde spat. "Is that what you think?"

"No, but it's a nicer thought that her being helpless with that animal."

"She's not helpless," Sean said.

"She let Doyle carry her like some docile little thing from a Victorian romance, and she knows we're watching. You really think she'd have let him do that, if she had the strength to walk on her own?"

"I didn't say she wasn't a wreak physically. You're right, she's probably in too much pain or too weak or both to get off of that chair and into the house on her own steam. But Clyde, think about it, the kissing, the cuddling, the carrying, what's that all tell you?"

Sean's words hit him and he shook his head with a sigh. "She's telling us to back off."

The other man nodded. "Yeah, she's practically screaming at us that's she's safe, that Doyle is doting on her. We keep our distance and let her do what she does so well, and she'll make it out of this with her cover intact and the mission still alive."

Clyde cursed again under his breath. "Rewind the footage, I want to see her come out."

Jeremy nodded and rewound the recording and let it play. Clyde watched Emily's pain-filled, deliberate steps, one arm held tight around her body while the other grabbed whatever it could for support. He saw her teeth planted in her bottom lip and her jaw tense as she lowered herself into the chair, and her eyes squeezed shut as she willed the pain away.

"Alright, plan is the same. We watch and we wait, let me know when you pick her up on any cameras." Then he left the room to go call the office and inform them that Emily was alive.

* * *

Using the chair Ian had left beside the bed, Declan grabbed the edge and pulled himself up, tumbling over Emily's legs and crawling toward the head of the bed to sit beside her. He'd already handed her two children's books, _The Velveteen Rabbit_ and _Little Bear_ , and eagerly settled himself against her side. After initially looking chastised at being caught in the room, Declan, as she learned his name was, slowly began to talk to her. She learned that he was bored; his mother, who was Louise, was working and there were no other children in the house. Since Emily couldn't play with him, she offered to read to him.

Emily moved her arm, so he could snuggle underneath and Declan eagerly adjusted himself. She laid the two books out. "Which one should we read first?"

Declan raised his hand in the air, hesitated for several seconds and then stabbed T _he Velveteen Rabbit_ with one chubby, little finger.

"Okay," she said, and opened the cover, flipping to the opening pages of the story. "There once was a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen," she read.

Declan was quiet as she turned the pages, eyes riveted to the illustrations in a way that told her he didn't have stories read to him very often. She couldn't find fault with Louise though, running Ian's homes was a more than full-time job; it didn't surprise her that the woman didn't have much time for her son. It did make her chest hurt for Declan though, he seemed like such a sweet kid, it didn't seem fair that he had to grow-up in the middle of all this darkness.

When they finished the first book, she moved onto the second book. And as Emily felt the slight pressure of Declan's weight against her side, she wondered, not for the first time, if she would have a child of her own one day. She knew her line of work wasn't conducive to motherhood, but she didn't expect to be a spy her whole life. And she was only 32, she still had time to have children. Then again, her mother hadn't exactly given her the best role model, so it wasn't like she'd know how to be a good mother. Maybe it was better if she didn't try. But she couldn't deny that she enjoyed sitting there with Declan, reading a book together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then another thought hit her. The knife wound, Ian had mentioned organ damage, but assured her that it was quickly repaired. What if...No, the wound was up too high to have hit her ovaries or uterus. At least, she thought it was up to high. Biology was not her best course in high school, but reproductive organs sat very low, and her stab wound wasn't too far from her belly button. And Ian would have told her something like that, wouldn't he? Unless of course, he was trying to protect her. And he had been treating her like glass since she was hurt, so it wouldn't be out of character for him...

Her arm tightened around Declan, but she shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts and focused on reading the book. "'I am cold,' said Little Bear. 'I want something to put on.' 'My little bear,' said Mother Bear, 'you have a hat, you have a coat, you have some snow pants. Do you want a fur coat, too?'"

Footsteps then drew her attention to the door, where Ian had stopped and was watching them, an unreadable expression on his face. "Hi," she said.

He started to move again, only to stop by the bed. His lips brushed her forehead. "You've made a new friend."

Emily looked down at Declan, who appeared to have fallen asleep. "Uh yeah, he's really sweet. Louise's boy right?"

Ian nodded. "He's not bothering you?"

"No, not at all. Actually, I was bored before he came around."

"And he's not hurting you?"

"No, I would have moved him if he was."

He nodded. "You'll send him to play if you get tired?"

"I will, I promise Ian, he's not bothering me at all."

He sighed and lowered himself to the chair then, taking her hand in his. "I didn't know you liked children."

"Everyone likes kids like Declan, Ian. It's the screaming, spoiled ones that get on your nerves."

He smiled. "Aye, true for the spoiled ones, but you're wrong, not everyone likes kids, even kids like Declan."

She shrugged, her teeth settling on her lip as she struggled to work up the nerve to ask him what she needed to know. "Ian?"

"Yes?"

"You said there was organ damage from the knife wound, what kind of damage?"

"Travis said the knife hit your liver and intestines, but it was only small cuts that he was able to stitch up. You're fine, you don't have to worry, Love." He squeezed her hand.

"It didn't hit anything else?"

Ian's brow furrowed and she watch his eyes move away from hers to briefly land on Declan, before coming back to her. He pressed his lips to the back of her palm. "The knife didn't get anywhere near any of that, Lauren. It's good to know that you think of that though."

To her surprise, he didn't look angry or unhappy or even startled. He looked thoughtful, even a little bit happy. The slight warmth that settled in her chest at their quiet moment was abruptly shutdown by the violent twisting of her stomach. Ian Doyle was contemplating the idea of them procreating, and it made him happy. He liked the idea of having babies with her.

What the hell was she supposed to do with that information?


	7. Chapter 7

_I know I'm seriously late with this update, sorry about that. I've got a lot going on though, so that's bound to happen now and again. Thank you everyone who's still reading and thank you for the reviews on the previous chapter and for any reviews on this one._

* * *

Emily held an arm around her stomach as she slid one foot down to the next step, her other foot following after several seconds rest. It hurt and it was annoyingly slow, but it wasn't awful. The sutures in her stomach had been removed yesterday, nine days after her surgery, and though it was obvious she'd have a scar, it at least looked like it wouldn't be a bad one. The doctor had cleared her for taking the stairs yesterday too, though he had warned her to take it easy. And she realized when she got to the bottom of the steps and had to stop for a break, the man had a point.

After a couple of minutes, she moved again, a little faster and easier now that she was on even ground. She heard Ian's voice and walked toward the sound. He'd been gone when she woke up this morning, off doing who knew what, and she wanted to see him. As she got closer to the living room, she heard a woman's voice; she was speaking rapidly, her voice tight and high-pitched and when Emily got to the room, she saw the woman's hands worrying a scarf, her right hand moving now and again and waved around as she spoke.

"Lauren, what are you doing down here?" Ian asked, cutting the woman off and walked toward Emily.

"I'm allowed to use the stairs now, remember?"

Ian said nothing, but guided her to the sofa, stopping briefly to introduce her to his agitated female companion. "Lauren Reynolds, Kara O'Connor, McNiall's sister."

Emily held out a hand. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Kara accepted her hand and nodded. "That's why I'm here. Ardan still has debts that I can't pay and Dolan Murphy is threatening to use my children to pay them. I've got five little ones, who don't deserve to pay for their uncle's mistakes."

Ian settled her onto the sofa. "I've been explaining to Mrs. O'Connor that I'm not feeling too inclined help the man who nearly killed you."

"You never paid for those weapons, Mr. Doyle," Kara reminded.

"Oh no? Shall I tally up the costs of Lauren's medical care?"

Her gaze fell toward the ground, and when she looked up again, her eyes were on Emily. "I'm very sorry for what Arlan did to you, Ms. Reynolds and for all the pain you suffered. But I'm desperate to protect my children. In two days, Murphy is going to show-up looking for his money, and when he doesn't find it, he's going to sell myself and my children to traffickers. Do you know what kind of traffickers buy children?"

Emily swallowed and nodded. "Yes, I know."

Ian put a hand on her arm. "I told you, Mrs. O'Connor, I can do nothing for you. I suggest you take what you have and leave Ireland."

"With what money, Mr. Doyle? I'm a widow, I barely makes ends meet."

"Louise," Ian called out, ignoring Kara. "Show Mrs. O'Connor out, please," he directed when the housekeeper appeared at the doorway. He then turned his attention to Emily. "How do you feel, Love?"

She pressed her lips to his. "I'm fine. A little sore, but considering the past week and change, that's pretty good."

"Good," he said, finding her mouth with his. After he broke away, he pulled her flush against his body and rested and arm over her shoulder. "I can hear you thinking, Lauren."

"They're just kids, Ian, and those traffickers will trap them into a life of sexual slavery. We can't let that happen."

"We can't stop Murphy from collecting his debts, it's not our business to interfere in."

"Then we'll give her a loan. Or, I'll give her a loan, if you don't want to." Ian only stared at her, his expression unchanged. Emily sighed. "If it was just her or McNiall, I wouldn't care, Ian. But they're little kids, innocent kids. How can you even stomach the idea of letting that happen to them?"

"I long ago learned to be immune to such things, Love." His fingers tangled in her hair as he released a breath. "But if it upsets you that much, I'll make sure Murphy doesn't touch the children."

"You will?" Emily shifted closer to him, turning her body so that her front was nearly flush with his.

"I promise., I'll take care of it. I don't want you to be thinking of anything but getting better. You're still healing, Lauren."

Emily reached her fingers up to stroke along the sides of his mouth and down over his chin, before pressing her lips to his. "Thank you."

Ian didn't respond verbally, just brushed her lips with his, increasing the force slowly as his hands drifted slowly under the hem of her shirt. His fingers brushed her skin and the kiss grew more feverish, until Ian's left hand hit her wound, causing her to jump. Ian pulled away only slightly, a low rumble in his throat sounding almost like a growl to her ears. "Almost got carried away there, Love."

Emily was still trying to catch her breath and will away the sudden dizziness from the exertion. "Guess I'm not quite ready for that yet," she said.

"Soon enough." He pecked the top of her head.

* * *

"You see, Emily today?" Clyde asked as he approached Tsia and Jeremy.

Tsia nodded. "She was on the ground floor today, I think she made it down the stairs on her own."

"How's she look?"

"Tired, but not bad. I think she's got a little more color today," Jeremy said. "They snuggled on the sofa for a while.

"This was after McNiall's sister came and went. Not sure why she was there, since we don't have audio."

"I'm surprised Doyle didn't just shoot her." He paused and when he opened his mouth again, he was cut-off by Tsia.

"Movement," she said. "Looks like Liam's taking a crew somewhere."

Clyde leaned closer to the screen and observed Liam lead a crew out to the garage. Minutes later two dark colored SUVs crawled down the driveway. "Jeremy continue to monitor the house. Tsia with me and Sean."

He hurried to their vehicles, gesturing for the others to each pick a car and follow Doyle's men discretely. It was a relay method. Tsia would start the tail and after a bit, she'd make a turn away from Doyle's people and he'd taken over. He'd do the same and then Sean would take over. It was far less obvious than the same car following them the whole way.

They made their first switch when Liam stopped at McNiall's sister's house and loaded the SUVs with her, her children and some luggage. Tsia drove off away from the house and Clyde drove up two cars behind them. After ten minutes, he let the car behind him pass him, so he was three cars behind Liam. Another fifteen and he made a left turn and Sean pulled out of the next street with a car between him and Liam. When they got to the docks, Sean continued on and Tsia slinked though the area on foot until Liam stopped and she gave them the location.

There was a dark-colored limousine waiting for Liam, who exited the vehicle and held the door open for McNiall's sister. In her arms she held her youngest, a boy of only about four months. Clyde watched as a man in his mid to late thirties and a very expensive suit stepped out of the limo and walked toward Liam. The arms dealer took the baby from his mother and met the wealthy man halfway. The two exchanged several words until the wealthy man looked behind himself at the open limo door and yelled something they couldn't quite here. Another man came out, twenty years-older, less expensively attired and balding and took the baby. He set the infant on the trunk of the limo and unwound the blankets wrapped around his tiny body. After a quick examination, the older man rewrapped the baby, and nodded to the wealthy man. The wealthy man reached into the limo, pulled out a filled paper bag and handed it to Liam. Liam examined the bag and waved the wealthy man and the older man away.

When they entered the limo with the baby and started the car is when McNiall's sister began to panic. Liam's men held her back and she sobbed and cried and begged, and ultimately watched strangers drive away with her youngest child.

"I'm on the Limo," Sean announced before slipping away.

Clyde and Tsia continued to watch and Liam appeared to count out the bulk of the cash, stow a small chunk in one pocket and the rest of it in another pocket, and then hand the bag with the rest to the still sobbing, hysterical woman. They loaded back up into the SUVs and drove toward a mid-sized fishing vessel. Liam got out of the vehicle and met a man there, they spoke for a short time and then Liam pulled out the larger chunk of the cash and handed it to the other man. The other man nodded and gestured to the nearby gangplank. McNiall's sister, still sobbing, climbed out with her four remaining children and ushered them up the gangplank, while Liam's men followed with the luggage. Liam stopped her and handed her a large manilla envelope before she boarded the ship. When all the men had returned to the vehicles, they left and went back to Thollivyn.

When Tsia and Clyde got back to Finnegan Street, Sean was already there. Clyde spoke first. "He used the money to pay for passage on a ship, I assume it's going to America, and I'm guessing forged documents."

"Limo went to a mansion, a woman met the rich fella at the door and gushed all over the baby. Running background on them now, but I'm guessing that's his wife and they couldn't have one of their own," Sean stated.

"So, Doyle made the woman sell one of her children to finance her escape from Ireland?" Tsia asked, her face twisted in disgust.

"She had no choice," Jeremy said. "I got a call from one of the locals while you guys were out. If she didn't come up with the money her idiot brother owed by tomorrow, Dolan Murphy was going to sell her kids to traffickers."

Clyde scoffed. "So Liam gave her a choice, lose your son or watch all five children became sex slaves."

The team all went silent, every one of them considering that, before Jeremy broke it. "I was watching the house, Emily's still pretty weak or in pain, probably both. She only got up half the stairs before Doyle carried her the rest of the way."

"A couple more weeks then," Sean said. "Soon as she's out, a doctor is examining her. A legitimate one, not that hack that Doyle has working for him."

"He might be a hack, but he did save her life." Clyde released a long sigh. "I agree though."


	8. Chapter 8

Ian had been gone when she woke that morning, undoubtedly off on some business deal. He was still adamant about her staying at Thollivyn and resting, still paranoid that she was overdoing it, and still gentle and caring with her. It was getting a little annoying and more than a little frustrating. Sure it was very flattering that he loved her so much (and a little terrifying, if she was honest), but god, she wasn't a child. She'd been stuck at the house for weeks now, hanging out with Declan, chatting with Louise and occasionally fitting the P90s with the new parts that had arrived last week.

Now that her life was no longer in danger and she wasn't spending ever minute trying to sublimate the pain shooting through her abdomen, she was getting bored. Emily also really wanted to get away from him for a while, see her team, and hear her own name once or twice. Staying here with Ian, it was too easy to forget who she really was, to forget who _he_ really was.

Emily wandered the grounds, feeling the damp Irish chill soaking in even through her sweater. It was a beautiful country, she would say that, but having grown up so much in the Middle East, she could never get used to the damp chill. But she had nothing better to do, so she studied the flower beds, the shrubs and trees and enjoyed the fresh air. The sun was out and she tried to walk around the shade so she could enjoy its warmth, but Ian liked trees and much of Thollivyn was shaded.

She yawned and failed to raise her hand quickly enough to cover it.

"Getting tired already, Love?"

Emily didn't bother turning. "No, more like bored."

His hands moved around her waist, wrapping around her just beneath her breasts and he pressed his body against hers. He pressed his lips to her neck, just below her ear. "You're still healing."

"I'm fine, Ian." She angled her head to look up at him. "And you know, I do have my own business to take care of."

While her face was angled up, he captured her lips. "Aye, I know that. But you can't fault me for wanting to keep you around."

She let her head rest against his neck. "I am happy to be with you, Ian. The last few weeks have been...wonderful. You know, apart from the near fatal injury."

"Apart from that of course," he said and chuckled.

Emily turned around in his arms so she was facing him, her hands resting on her chest. "You know, I missed you this morning."

"Had some business."

"I figured," she said and kissed him. "But I woke up with the strangest feeling." She kissed him again.

"What sort of feeling is that, Love?"

"I felt warm. Very warm." She pressed her body closer to his and pecked his lips again.

"And what can we do to fix this?" He asked, grinning, grinding his lower body against hers. "Aspirin?"

Emily grinned. "No more drugs. In fact, I think I'd feel a lot better if I could show you just how good I feel."

A low growl escaped Ian's throat, but he offered no words. His mouth was too busy moving against hers, as he kissed her with more force and passion than he'd allowed himself in the month she'd been at Thollivyn. Emily whimpered and kissed him back, before the wet chill reminded her that they were outside in public view, then she pulled back. She hummed. "We should get inside."

"Aye." Ian pulled away from her, but kept one arm around her waist, tracing circles in her back as they walked into the house.

Once in their bedroom, they wasted no time. Boots were kicked off and clothes were scattered on the floor. The first time she'd had sex with Ian, Emily had felt more than a little dirty. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten intimate with one of their targets, not even the first time she'd slept with one, but it never felt quite right. At least that first time. After the sixth or seventh, she'd stopped feeling anything, but lust and the satisfaction of a very strong orgasm. She'd begun to feel something else too, but Emily had quickly put it out of her mind and refused to consider it.

She traced his body, her fingertips gliding along his flesh, her nails skating along his backside and thumbs rubbing up against his nipples, all earning her familiar grunts and groans telling her that he was getting heated up. She trailed her hands down as she leaned forward over him, her breath teasing his ear and her lips brushing his neck. Emily kissed his chin and then up to his mouth, leaning low so her groin just barely rubbed his and her nipples pressed into his chest just a little. After kissing him soundly, she leaned back up, happy to see his chest almost heaving from her ministrations.

Her fingers danced along his already hard penis causing him to go completely erect. A sharp intake of breath was her only warning before he grabbed her hands and flipped them over, pinning her to the mattress with his body. Ian cupped her breasts and kissed along her neck, down to her breasts, teasing her nipples with his tongue, causing her to arch into him. Her breath quickened as he moved lower, his lips pausing at her scar, and that sight of it seemed to bring out something animal in him.

Ian focused his entire attention between her legs and went to work like he was on a mission. Her breathing went from quickening to labored in seconds and she fisted the sheets just to have something to hang grip. When she came hard and screaming, he positioned himself between her legs and thrusted into her before she'd gotten her bearings back. His lips went to work on her neck like he was trying to devour her, one hand on her hip as he thrusted and another grabbing at her breast. Emily wrapped her legs around him, bringing him deeper into herself and pushing him past his control.

He thrusted fast and furious and his grip on her hip became even tighter, and Emily knew that she was being owned in that moment. As he gave up control and grew in force, she knew he was claiming her as his. She'd almost died and it had messed with his head, because he wasn't used to feeling that way about anyone or anything. He wasn't used to needing someone, to feeling like his whole world would end of she didn't open her eyes again. And he needed her and he needed this, to reassure himself that she was well, that she was his, and that she would not break.

And as her second orgasm built on the heels of the last one and rolled over her so fast it almost felt like she couldn't breathe, Emily released her own control. She shouted his name and begged him to go harder, deeper, to make her feel more, more, more. And then the building pressure exploded, leaving her head spinning and their sweaty bodies still pressed together. Ian didn't move for several minutes, just breathed and traced circles over her hip. Emily didn't mind, she couldn't think much right then; she let her legs fall limply on either side of him, but kept her arms around him, fingers drawing nonsensical patterns on his back.

* * *

"How's it going, Jeremy?" Sean asked as he and Clyde walked over to where the other man manned their surveillance on Thollivyn. Tsia was sitting nearby, studying reports from the locals.

"Well, even with the window open, we can't see much of the bedroom, so I can't be sure, but I think their on round four at this point."

"How's that?" Clyde asked.

"Sex. Doyle appears to be feeling particularly horny today. He got back to Thollivyn just before noon, they got cute on the front lawn, then went upstairs, screwed, slept, screwed again, had lunch, screwed again, and I think they just woke up from their second nap and are going for round four." Jeremy nodded to the zoomed in screen that showed a sliver of the bed with naked moving limbs.

"I hope you haven't been watching that all day," Clyde said.

"Isn't that my job?"

"Watching Thollivyn is your job," Sean said. "Watching Emily having sex will get her after your hide."

"They should close the blinds then," Jeremy said, switching to a camera with a full view of Thollivyn.

"Yeah, you tell her that," Clyde said.

Jeremy snorted. "Pass." Then he gestured to the screen. "Still that's a lot of sex with the creep."

"Yes, well if she's well enough to spend the day having sex with him, he should get the clue that she's also well enough to leave," Clyde said.

"We need to start planning a rendezvous point," Sean said.

Clyde nodded. "I've got one in mind."

"Closest commercial airport is Ireland West," Tsia said. "Otherwise, she'd have to drive down to Dublin. I suppose she could go to Shannon too, but Dublin is closer. And Cork is even further than Shannon."

"Flights out of Ireland West don't go many places," Jeremy pointed out.

Sean shrugged. "That won't matter. She'll zigzag across the continent before meeting us anyway."

Clyde frowned. "Doyle ever showed a preference?"

Tsia tapped the keys on her laptop and surveyed the information they had. "Dublin is the closest major airport to Thollivyn, so usually there, but he's used Ireland West."

"Alright, tomorrow you're on reconnaissance at Ireland West, Tsia. Sean, you're on Dublin."

The room grew silent as they all pondered the building on the screen and the woman stuck inside it. Then Jeremy broke it. "Hey Clyde, is she good?"

The other man started from his thoughts and turned his attention to his subordinate. "Is who good at what?"

"Emily, is she good in bed?"

Sean nearly laughed when he saw his old friend's jaw muscles tighten. "I'm going to pretend you didn't ask me that."

"What? You're the only one here who'd know, and Doyle is certainly enjoying himself."

"I'm not going to answer that, but I'll be sure to tell her you'd like to know." Clyde turned around and started to leave before he had the opportunity to see Jeremy's face turn white.

Sean followed him out, trying not to smirk at the pallor of his colleague's skin. "We should also prepare to debrief her," he told Clyde.

"I've been preparing for that for more than a month."

"Aye. You think you'll be okay to do it?"

Clyde turned to him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Cause you damn near lost your shit when we thought she was dead."

"Yes, well she's not dead."

"No, but she'll be detailing the attack and a painful recovery," Sean said.

"You think it should be just you?" Clyde asked.

"If you're unsure that you can keep your head, yes." Sean knew that Clyde's feelings toward Emily, while not romantic, were certainly different than his feelings toward the rest of the team. He and Clyde had worked together a lot over the years and were close, but Emily held a special place in his heart. She was one of very, very few people that Clyde let get close to him, and one of very few that he trusted. In fact, he was certain he'd never seen Clyde take to anyone as quickly as he had Emily. Where he usually took an instant dislike to most people, Clyde had seemed to instantly like, respect and even trust her. Sean had never been able to figure out why, but Emily had never given him cause to question that trust. She even tolerated Clyde's occasional part-affectionate and part-tongue-in-cheek addressing of her as Darling.

"I'll be fine," Clyde insisted.

Sean made no attempt to argue further with him, and instead offered a half-smile. "Then lets get ready to bring her home."

Clyde raised an eyebrow. "You have an unfortunate definition of home."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, let's have a drink and start working out how to get her to whichever safe house you picked."

* * *

 _Thank you all for the reviews and continuing to follow-along with this story, even though updating is sporadic._


	9. Chapter 9

Emily walked into Ireland West, a small black duffel bag slung over her shoulder, and kept her eyes peeled for signs of her team and a place to get a cup of coffee. It was still early and leaving had been harder than she'd expected. Declan, who she'd spent a good deal of time with as she healed because she'd had little else to entertain her, was upset his new friend was leaving. She'd given a kiss on the cheek and a promise that she'd see him in Italy in a couple of weeks, which seemed to settle him a bit.

Ian had been harder.

He'd been worried about her, and because that was an uncomfortable feeling for him, he was extremely cranky. He had snarled and snapped at everyone at Thollivyn, including her, and everything little thing sent him off cursing in Gaelic and English both. In the car, on the way to the airport, Emily had curled up to him and slid her hand underneath his blue button-down (her favorite, because the soft shade made his baby blues really pop) and rubbed circles on his bare skin to soothe him. It had nearly worked. He'd calmed down, wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips into her hair. Then they'd hit traffic.

And their goodbye at the terminal entrance had been far more emotional than either of them was comfortable with, which made them both irritable. They'd finally settled for a squeeze and decidedly unchaste kiss, before he'd ducked back into the car and she'd turned heel and power-walked into the airport. So, now she felt twitchy and uneasy, and eager to get out of her Lauren skin, because right now it was about as comfortable as a suit of rusty chainmaille.

She found a small, but busy shop and grabbed a cup of coffee before resuming her stroll through the terminal. There were clothing stores and tchotchke shops and one newsstand that she almost walked past when a familiar face caught her eye. She was leaning slightly forward, studying a rack of paperback books, and made no eye contact, but allowed her hand to linger on a book as she moved onto the hardcover section. Emily kept her eyes on Tsia's fingers as she entered the shop, and let one hand land on the same book as the browsed through the rest of the paperbacks.

It was mostly popular fiction with big name authors and a healthy dose of purely trash reading. Emily wasn't above reading a trashy novel now and again, and certainly didn't begrudge others there literary junk food, but some of the titles seemed truly ridiculous to her. Then she finally let her eyes graze the cover of the book Tsia left her, and her first thought was, are you fucking kidding?

She pulled the book off the rack and eyed the cover, trying to feel even a little enthusiastic about. _Savage Kiss_ showed a shirtless large-muscled man, his long dark hair blowing behind him, one arm slung around the too tiny waist of a woman bent back at the waist, her reddish brown curls flowing behind her and the top lacing of her dress undone enough to show generous cleavage, her face wanton and weak. Emily sighed internally, and decided to take the high road; if the sex wasn't hot, at least it would be funny.

Sipping her coffee, she continued to browse for a bit longer, before moving on and glancing through the magazines. She picked up a copy of the month's _Hot Press_ , a music and politics magazine that seemed fairly innocuous, and finally moved onto the hardcovers. She let her eyes drift to the spine of the book Tsia was pursing at the next shelf, saved the title in her mind and browsed the hardcovers. After about ten minutes, Tsia walked away with two books in her hands and Emily moved to her shelf, relieved that there were only two copies of _Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha_ , and Emily nearly snorted when she saw the authors name.

Roddy Doyle.

Subtle Tsia, very subtle. Regardless, she browsed one copy and finding nothing significant in it, she picked up the other copy, her fingers immediately hitting soft plastic tucked into the pages. She quickly closed the book, added it to her pile and continued browsing. After another fifteen minutes, she took her purchases to the counter and paid, before quickly finding a bathroom.

Once inside a bathroom stall, she opened the paperback first and found two short words scrawled on the bottom left corner of the inside cover. _Peaceful streets._

Emily pulled out the cash tucked into the pages and shoved it into her wallet. Then she opened the hardcover and did the same with the credit card hidden in those pages, but the passport she kept out to study the name and biographical information. Maura Ainsely, born in Cleveland on April 5, 1971. Once memorized, she moved onto the stamps inside and determined that Maura was quite the traveler. In the last ten years she'd been all over western Europe, parts of northern Europe, parts of Asia and even parts of the Caribbean, and now appeared to be leaving Ireland after a couple weeks of vacationing. Good, heavy travel would not look suspicious then.

She stowed the passport, flushed the toilet, washed her hands and then headed for her departure gate. She would sit on five different airplanes before she walked up to an airport counter and booked a flight for Faro, a small city on the southern coast of Portugal. Clyde had always been fond of the small country, he said people seemed to forget that it existed and so left it largely unmolested. But it was Faro that truly loved, and he had once told her why he was enamored of the small city.

It had peaceful streets.

* * *

Emily knew where Clyde's safe house was in Faro, not by address, but by sight. She'd been there twice before and could easily walk there from the beautiful Faro Cathedral, so she had the cab drop her there. The weather was warm, but not hot, so the walk to the small building, though it was 25 minutes, was not unpleasant. She was still feeling groggy from all the traveling, so she stopped at a cafe and got a cup of coffee to go, before continuing to the unassuming safe house.

It was a small cottage made with concrete that could use a good cleaning and terracotta tiles on the roof of various shades of orange and beige. Though the outside was not glamorous and the neighborhood left a bit to be desired, she remembered the inside being clean and well-kept. At least the last time she'd been there. Emily yawned as she got closer to the little building and took another sip of coffee to try and kill the jetlag, for all the good it did. She'd zigzag so much, her internal clock was a wreck.

Then she knocked on the door and waited until it opened to reveal Tsia tucking her gun back in her holster, before quickly sweeping Emily into her arms, dragging her inside and shutting the door behind them.

"Thank god," the other woman said, still squeezing her. "I've been stuck with just the guys for far too long, you would not believe the amount of testosterone bouncing off the walls."

"Let the woman breathe, Tsia," Sean admonished.

"It's okay, it's good to see you, it feels like forever," she admitted, dropping her bag not far from the door.

Tsia backed up anyway, allowing Sean to move forward and hug her. "You gave us a hell of scare, Emily."

"Yeah, scared the hell out of me too."

He pulled back and smiled. "I bet. Clyde's got a doctor all lined up to have a look at you soon as you're ready."

"I'm fine, really," she said.

"Well, the rest of us will feel better if we know a doctor who's not corrupt examined you."

"Trust me, if I wasn't 100% better, Doyle never would have let me leave," she assured them.

"You'll see the doctor."

Emily turned to see Clyde standing in the doorway to what she vaguely remembered being a small living room, watching them talk. "I take it that that's a direct order?"

"I'd prefer it if it didn't have to be," he said. "Interpol and CIA have both made it clear that you're to have a complete examination before we can put you back in the field."

She sighed. "Okay then, I guess I'm going to see your doctor."

Clyde smiled. "Nice to have you back with us, Darling."

Emily walked over and hugged him. "Nice to be back. I was starting to go stir-crazy at Thollivyn."

The four of them then went to move further into the house when Emily suddenly stopped and walked back over to her bag, digging through it until she pulled out the trashy paperback. She held it up. "Seriously, Tsia?"

She grinned. "I thought you'd enjoy that."

Clyde and Sean exchanged a look and chuckled. Emily just rolled her eyes and tossed the book back into her bag.

Hours later, Emily found herself sitting in their temporary war room, shifting through notes and photos. Most of Ian, though a great deal featured both of them and some had just her. There was one where they were both standing in front of the house, Ian behind her, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, Emily leaning back against his chest, her forehead pressed against his neck. They looked peaceful, like any other couple in love and savoring a moment that was theirs and theirs alone. Except it wasn't. It was shared by a team of spies documenting every move.

And they weren't a couple in love. They weren't a couple at all.

That did not stop her from missing him though, from missing those quiet moments with Ian that she hadn't been able to have over her long days of traveling and wouldn't have again for another week and a half. Her fingers traced the photo and she hated herself a little bit for how much she longed for those small, peaceful moments.

"He's a monster, Darling." Clyde's voice caused her to start and bite her lip, and she quickly dropped the photo. "Don't ever forget that."

"Of course, I haven't," she said.

"No one would blame you if you did," he said, picking up the photo. "It must be easy to forget what he is when he's so affectionate with you."

"Hardly. I know what he is, Clyde. I haven't forgotten."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure."

He let the photo fall back into the pile and sat down beside her. "His helping McNiall's sister out of the country, that was at your behest, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I begged him to help her. Said I'd do it if he didn't, I couldn't let anything happen to those kids, they're innocents."

Clyde nodded. "Did he tell you how he financed their passage to America and their fake documents?"

"No, he didn't give me any specifics, just said he took care of it. Why?" Her whole body tensed as she wondered what Ian had done, who he'd killed to pay for it.

"He sold the woman's youngest child, the baby boy, to a wealthy, infertile couple."

It felt like her stomach flipped over and took a dive toward her feet. "He what?"

"The woman was hysterical and begging and pleading with that neanderthal Liam while the man drove away with her son."

Without even realizing it Emily turned away and began chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she was desperate to break, but had so far been completely unsuccessful. She was startled when Clyde grabbed her hand and pulled it out of her mouth.

"You're the only spy I've ever met that gnaws her fingernails to nubs."

"Bad habit," she said.

He released a weary breath then and put his hand under her chin, pushing her face up so she had to look at him. "Ian Doyle is a creature straight out of hell, Em. And Lauren Reynolds doesn't exist. Promise me you won't forget that."

Emily shook her head free from his hands. "I won't forget, Clyde. I promise."

"You're in now, Em; it shouldn't be much longer. Then we can pull you out and you'll never have to think of him again."

She nodded, but knew it wasn't true. Maybe in 20 years there would be a day where she didn't think about him, but she knew, could feel it deep inside her in that mysterious realm of intuition that cops called their guts. Ian Doyle was going to be the albatross around her neck for many years to come.

But in the meantime, she buried every uncomfortable feeling she had and turned to the person she trusted most in the world. "Get me up to date, what do we need to take him down?"

* * *

 _So, this has been ridiculously delayed, but October was very busy for me. And my drive to work on fanfic took a nosedive sometime in the last few months. That said, this story is finished, and I will finish the last story in the Fallen universe. I also have a couple of other stories that are close to done that I'd like to put out there, since they're close to done, but no promises on those. Thank you everyone who has read and reviewed this story!_


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